Chapter Seventy-One: The Gate of the Flood Dragon

Behind the Glazed Dragon Gate, three li away and fifty steps to the right, there lay a moss-covered boulder. Here, the water was still half a foot deep, and to the left, forty-nine steps separated it from the main peak of Mount Epang. The mountains encircled the spot, perfectly blocking out the light, save for a single sliver that fell through a gap and cast a faint glow upon the stone.

Commander Qiu, surnamed Song, seemed quite hesitant, murmuring to himself, “A line of sky beyond the heavens, the Dragon’s Vein divided—yet is this a true node or a false one?”

He took out the Ghost Valley Ruler and made careful calculations in the water, beneath the faint light, and toward the distant mountains, spending the time it takes for an incense stick to burn. “Ten steps for the heavens, three for water, six for the mountains—that’s correct. But…”

“If only a gust of wind would come—”

“Sir! The waters of the Qi are changing!”

“What?” Song Yu started, peering down from the cliff. The Qi River, unwilling to be stilled, was gathering for one final assault. Great waves roared and thundered, black clouds blocked out the sun, and the surging waters ceaselessly battered the ancient Epang Mountain, each crash against the cliffs sounding like rolling thunder.

“Sir! The Qi has risen three feet!” One of the Gold-Searching Captains called out, his voice tinged with fear.

“The wind is rising—” Song Yu was momentarily transfixed, muttering to himself.

“The wind is rising!” Suddenly, Song Yu shouted, running toward the mossy boulder. Just as he had anticipated, the wind and water, trapped in the enclosed terrain, whirled back and forth, producing an eerie sound, half wailing, half laughing, like the cry of a dragon.

“The Wind Lord is dead, the Water God fallen, the Weeping Dragon severs the node! Divide the Dragon’s Vein, reveal the node!”

“Men! Quickly! Throw the Tomb-Suppressing Dragon Stone from halfway up the mountain into the water—be sure to throw it from the mid-slope! Only then can we ‘divide the dragon’s blood, scatter the dragon’s energy,’ and use the surge of the Qi River to assault the First Emperor’s tomb!”

Song Yu laughed and wept at once. “Qiu cleaves mountains for Zhao and Li, the Song and Chen move mountains, the Xia King explores the gold veins, a wager of a hundred years—at last it is the Song clan’s mountain-moving line that wins! With this final Dragon-Sealing Node broken, my family will have undone the Nine-Dragon Mountain-Suppressing Art…”

A boulder weighing tens of thousands of pounds was pushed from the mountainside by more than a dozen secret guards. It crashed into the water, sending up waves tens of meters high. The Qi, as if enraged, rose another six feet before the naked eye, and Mount Epang seemed to lose its shield as the surging waters threatened to engulf its slopes.

With the loss of the suppressing stone, the strange terrain where Song Yu stood became even more turbulent. A fierce wind swept over him, and without warning, Song Yu coughed up a mouthful of blood, his face paling as if he had aged a decade.

“As it should be. The force of heaven and earth—who but the immortals could command it?” Song Yu’s face was expressionless. “Report to the old general: the formation is broken. In the time it takes for an incense stick to burn, open the tomb. I am eighty percent certain—”

The Flood Dragon Gate was revealed within a mountain crevice, its entrance exceedingly narrow. If not for the extraordinary skills of the Gold-Searching Captains, with the mountain rising a thousand feet and tangled in vines, even ten thousand soldiers would find searching for the entrance akin to looking for a needle in the sea.

“Understood. You may go,” Li Guangzhi waved his hand.

“Young Master Zhou, you seem puzzled?” Li Guangzhi turned to Zhou Qian. “Would you share your thoughts with this old man?”

“Yes,” Zhou Qian nodded, perplexed. “General, you have survived a hundred battles and must know the responsibilities of a commander. With your esteemed status, why put yourself in such danger? Moreover, according to our original plan, my task was not to protect you.”

“Oh? Are you lecturing me?” Li Guangzhi's eyes glinted with amusement.

Zhou Qian considered, then spoke honestly. “Yes, I am lecturing you. You are being irresponsible!”

A stifled laugh came from the guards on either side.

“Cough, cough—” Li Guangzhi’s stern face twisted, and he snapped, “You brat, you’re asking for a beating!”

“But you can’t beat me,” Zhou Qian replied truthfully.

Li Guangzhi was momentarily speechless. Was the boy truly clever, or just a fool?

“The reason for my actions is simple,” Li Guangzhi said. “The Glazed Dragon Gate and Ying Dragon Gate are both under the control of you men of the rivers and lakes. You are skilled, and this is your specialty, but if all three gates were in your hands, the court would lose face. So I came in person, so I have an answer ready when His Majesty asks. Secondly, I worry there are traps within the Flood Dragon Gate. Your swordsmanship is adequate, your rank is low—you're easy to order about.” As for how much of this was true, Zhou Qian would have to judge for himself.

“As for the Heavenly Gate Formation set on the path to all three gates, that is my life's work. Even if I am absent, those remnants will not break it easily—no matter how many they send, they will perish.”

‘He really thinks I’m a fool,’ Zhou Qian thought, shaking his head. The tomb of the First Emperor owed much to the people of the rivers and lakes, who had suffered many casualties. If not for their support, the court’s reputation would be in shambles; they could not afford to alienate their allies. Li Guangzhi likely yielded control of the Glazed and Ying Dragon Gates for this reason. After all, before the treasure is opened, all else is meaningless. Placing Zhou Qian at his side was probably also the result of negotiation; the court had betrayed its allies before, and if they wiped out the remnants of the previous dynasty in one fell swoop, there could be other plans afoot. Li Guangzhi was infamous for his ruthlessness, and the martial world feared him, so Zhou Qian was chosen as a check.

Though surrounded by elite guards, Zhou Qian was confident that within thirty feet, he could do anything—such was the confidence of a swordsman in his art: ‘Close at hand, one man equals an army!’

To disdain the nobles and defy princes was no idle boast; martial masters had the right.

“Half the incense stick has burned,” Li Guangzhi calculated.

Suddenly, the ground shook—the whole of Mount Epang seemed to tremble.

“What’s happening?” Li Guangzhi’s face changed.

“General, the Qi River is boiling!”

Indeed, at some point, the Qi River had become a raging flood, wave upon wave threatening to submerge the ancient mountain, far from ceased, but instead as if intent on drowning it.

“Impossible! Impossible!” Song Yu muttered, dazed. “It was supposed to divide the Dragon’s Vein, but the mountain’s feng shui has become a Dragon-Slaying formation?”

On another peak, Lü Cunwen patted a Taoist-looking man on the shoulder and laughed, “Well done, Mountain-Mover.”

“I am unworthy,” the Mountain-Mover replied, voice hollow and hoarse, as if under a spell.

“If the First Emperor’s tomb is flooded, we’re done for,” Ren Xie said, worried.

“Neither the court nor the righteous factions would use only such means. Let’s wait and see.”

“Someone has secretly reversed the feng shui! Damn them!” Song Yu woke from his daze, cursing, “Do they not fear heaven’s wrath?”

“Have them act at once! Quickly!”

“To quell the flood, we must first release the dragon’s energy!”

A protruding boulder on the mountainside was smashed by the waves, falling into the river and instantly shattered. The floating bridge built hours before had long since been swept away. Li Guangzhi and his men had no choice but to retreat higher, the torrents raging ever upward. Rain as large as beans poured from the clouds. Zhou Qian could see the other groups now, all stranded on the peaks. The water had not yet reached their height, but when the waves surged, it cared not for martial prowess or courtly might.

“Someone’s coming!” Zhou Qian looked into the distance—a small dark speck grew larger.

“General!” the newcomer shouted before he arrived. “Lord Song Yu says act at once! Someone has altered the feng shui, cut off the dragon’s force, and the dragon energy bred over a thousand years is now being unleashed. If you don’t move now, it will be too late!”

Li Guangzhi’s face darkened, as did Zhou Qian’s. The other two gates were at higher elevation and safe, but the Flood Dragon Gate was at the foot of the mountain. “Clawless, scaled, a dragon’s lesser kin—tame it with the land, drive it upward”—so Song Yu had explained the feng shui. But now—

“The current is so fierce! What do you expect me to do?! What is Song Yu playing at?!” Li Guangzhi grabbed the man and roared.

“Do not worry, General,” the Gold-Searching Captain said solemnly. “Lord Song says he will buy you half an incense stick’s time. You just need to enter the water and open the gate.”

“How?” Li Guangzhi frowned.

“He says he will sacrifice to Heaven!”

Li Guangzhi paused, betraying no emotion, then turned and barked, “Find me fifteen good swimmers! Strip off your armor—prepare to enter the river!”

To sacrifice to Heaven—

In the world of tomb raiders—mountain-movers, gold-seekers, and all the other sects—this was the ultimate art: to alter feng shui, command the forces of yin and yang, change the world’s destiny. But always at a price—

Whoever sacrifices to Heaven must die.

“I’ll go too!” Zhou Qian suddenly declared.

“If you wish, go,” Li Guangzhi replied coldly, unconcerned for Zhou Qian’s fate. Zhou Qian’s reason was simple: the First Emperor’s tomb represented Zhou Xun’s life’s work and hope. Even if he could only give a little, Zhou Qian could not stand aside—this was his conviction.

“Into the water!” At once, the secret guards, stripped of armor, plunged into the river like dumplings. Their upper bodies were marked with strange tattoos. Zhou Qian narrowed his eyes and dove in after them—splash.

“Dragon Abyss, Seven Points, Divide the Yang Energy—Red Serpent, Coiling Dragon, Lower Yin Curtain…” Song Yu chanted each word, while his right arm, wielding a jet-black knife, carved relentlessly at his own body. Blood and flesh traced out a monstrous figure on the ground: ape-faced, four serpent tails, leopard hooves, a pig’s body. If Zhou Qian had seen it, he would have found it familiar: it was the Zhu Po Hou, the Boar-Monkey of the Fourteenth Chapter of the Compendium of Strange Beasts from the Lu Medical Classic.

Born of water, it perishes if it swallows the North Sea, savage by nature, it delights in eating people.

Not far off, three thick, black candles formed a triangle around Song Yu, the flames atop them blue, red, and black—the three souls of his being forced out.

Zhou Qian felt as if he were enveloped in icy cold. Without time to think, he hurried to follow the secret guards ahead. Zhou Qian’s swimming was mediocre, but his stamina was long, so he did not fall behind.

The Qi River was murky; nothing could be seen beyond ten feet. Before he could look around, a hidden current struck. Zhou Qian felt a force tug at his back, the water offering no purchase, but his body had been trained to the limit. His upper body muscles contracted and released dozens of times in quick succession, generating enough force to counter the undertow. He saw that none of the secret guards ahead had been swept away either, and nodded inwardly—no wonder they had attained the Bone Refinement stage.

After the time it takes for a cup of tea, the current abated, and the group continued to dive. But the deeper they went, the more violent the currents became, and the greater the peril.

The underwater currents, while lacking the thunderous roar of surface waves, were even more dangerous. Out of the corner of his eye, Zhou Qian glimpsed a wild ox that had fallen into the water somewhere upstream. No matter how it struggled, in the blink of an eye the current swept it away without a trace.

Within moments, the group was exhausted. Even Zhou Qian, whose body had been strengthened by the mysterious Red Apricot and had reached the miraculous stage of organ refinement, was sore and weak—five times in rapid succession they had been caught in powerful currents, the last as forceful as a master martial artist’s strike.

Four of the secret guards could endure no more and were lost to the waters, their fates unknown. Fortunately, the key holder was not among them.

They were still dozens of feet from the fissure when, just as despair set in, the roar of the Zhu Po Hou echoed through the water—low and mournful, it resounded even within Mount Epang.

The boiling Qi River seemed to calm, as if soothed, and the survivors hurried toward the fissure. At that moment, a vast black shadow glided past behind them…